


Drowning

by marymags



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Hurt No Comfort, Mental Health Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:08:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27567271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marymags/pseuds/marymags
Summary: slight AU from Bad Wolf Bay with the Metacrisis,not explicit, but potentially triggeringRose went through the emotional wringer.
Relationships: Metacrisis Tenth Doctor & Rose Tyler, Tenth Doctor/Rose Tyler
Kudos: 13





	1. Chapter 1

"Oh I'm fine I've got Madame"

"....Best friends, and equals; I'm just what skinny boy needs, an equal"

He couldn't have cut her deeper.

It finally came to a head; she just isn't enough. Even the use of 'Madame' was a casual reminder of when he left her for dead to pursue another (more brilliant, beautiful) woman. History repeats. She was torn between what she had always feared/ half believed and what she felt she should know... that he loves her, he _loves_ her, doesn't he? Hadn’t he told her in other words, in actions? He seemed so happy she was back just today, wasn’t it only hours ago that they were running towards each other on the street? 

Now, in another world, another universe, he was leaving her undeniably by choice, forever, and the scales had tipped. It was a jarring fall, like tripping down stairs. Awkward and painful, injury added to injury. If ( ), then ( ) - then ( ) - then ( )... There was no grace in her descent. 

She had witnessed horrors on her dimension hops, but this was worse. Maybe that’s why he was leaving, for all she’s seen and done she's not the same girl: the girl who (naively, stupidly) stood in front of a Dalek to protect it. She wanted them all to die. All those worlds, the suffering she saw, the physical pain she suffered herself, she couldn't help but agree with Martha, at a certain point it's not worth it. When life is limitless pain, sparing future generations of torture is merciful right? Maybe it is wrong to make the choice for others, and maybe it's selfish to choose for yourself, but--

"Ok"

it was choked, she was in pitch darkness, the air pressure was an ocean of weight on her closed throat.

"yeah. ok. alright. ‘course. ok" she was stuttering, her head nodding with each confirmation. 

She couldn't stop, her brain was trying to reconcile what Rose never allowed herself to imagine. That she was back on bad wolf bay, because the Doctor _didn't want her._ The relief that the multiverse was spared was eclipsed by such a rejection.It was more than she could handle. If she could rip off her own skin she would. It itched, this world itched. She couldn't do it. She wouldn't. She couldn't prioritize her thoughts. After the bliss of reunion the _wrongness_ of this universe was siren in her mind. Yet there he was, already indifferent.

There was no changing the Doctor's decision. Who was she to even ask? Didn't she already ("I spent all that time... I can't go back now")? Rose both wanted him to leave to end the emotional evisceration and humiliation, but she also couldn't bear to be without him. She would stay in this moment forever, this pain of a kind of casual cruelty. She couldn’t help her love, and cherished his face and the sound of his voice even as he detailed her abandonment.

She interrupted him as he was giving her an ambiguous task they both knew was impossible for her at this point and unnecessary. How could she make the Metacrisis better when she had blood on her hands? How could she do anything for him, when he had become her moral compass?

"It's ok, thank you, Doctor. Those years with you were more than... everything. To me."

He gave her a closed look, a muscle in his jaw flexed and twitched ~~,~~ before he glanced at the Other Doctor and retreated into the Tardis with Donna, The Madame. 

Without turning her gaze from their backs she addressed the Other, "Just. Go."

"Without you? Never-ever." She could feel the heat from his body, his hand grasping at hers, but it was all irrelevant.

Rose watched the door close. Part of her was still screaming that this was her last chance to go back where she belonged, universe prime. She was counting the seconds, imagining desperate shirt-clutching attempts to join them, but her knees had locked and she hadn’t even blinked. The door closed, and before the dematerialization was complete Rose had closed her eyes and covered her ears like a child overcome (crouching, small). It was all she could do to not collapse into the sand. Each groan of the universal walls closing sent fresh agony through her. The pressure was crushing.

\----

It became routine for her, starting with mission prep and eventually seeping into every day.

10 seconds, or really ten breaths in cold water. The contrast from steamy heat to a sharp chill sobered her emotions and allowed renewed focus. 

In a dank little bathroom in Norway Rose kept counting to ten. Maybe now that her mission was obsolete she had no point of focus so it did not come. The weight of the spray was a reassuring reminder that she was not actually living under 10,000 meters of water, despite the suffocating pressure she felt.

 _...out-two-three, 9 , in-two-three out-two-three, 10, in-two-three out-two-three, 1_... 

Her breaths were shuddering, and the world felt unreal: cold on her head and neck where constricting blood vessels were spotting her vision. On trembling legs she lowered herself to a sitting position. This new position felt colder, the drops heavier. The rivulets of water changed route. She felt like one nerve, utterly open and vulnerable. Goosebumps further sensitized pink skin, her body was begging to leave the relentless downpour. She was so much more aware: the direction of the shower, how the water shifted down her body. She was there for every drop; she felt every second pass. She had not lost any time, but rather got lost in each half second as it stretched and unfurled. Rose savored the bite and the numbness. She felt clean. She felt mastery over herself. She could deny it this small comfort. 

_**"**_ _fuck!_ Rose."

She didn't even hear the door open, but the water was off and the feeling of warmth was immediate. Her hair was so cold and heavy now and she felt the ache of it on her scalp. He was moving around and his hands were hot as he tried to both simultaneously wrap her in a towel and to lift her from the bath. He was coddling her, with gentle pleas to accommodate his efforts, and he snapped when she was largely unresponsive. 

_Of course, he’s worried_

She's always made excuses for men. 

She felt like a body again: soft and vulnerable, her wet flesh stuck to the tub and tile wall. It was vaguely gross. She had worried him. That was a mistake. She just needed to clear her head. It was even more clouded now that he disrupted her sojourn. She felt dirty. He who is not _him_ : fully clothed, in his salt stained suit. While she was fully nude, _naked,_ rather: bare and exposed. Her largest organ was out, her largeness, her secrets, hers, hers, her. What more could he possibly want from her. She had already atomized herself for him. Who knew all the pieces of herself she scattered across the multiverse; ghosts who never found him. 

Anger filled her unexpectedly 

"get. out." soft, dangerous. he didn’t move, and she was stock-still

"GETOUT!" it was the sound of a desperate animal; a hoarse shriek that was barely shaped into words and left her injured. 


	2. Chapter 2

While Rose had been entombing herself in her London flat near headquarters, the Doctor had turned the Tyler guest cottage into a workshop and lived there. ( His erratic behavior was best kept far from neighbors-- and law enforcement). It was supposed to be temporary-- it was supposed to be until Rose came to her senses. A couple days turned to weeks and months.

They had spoken, of course. After. But his open-ness, was a stranger to Rose. The soft insecurity in his eyes was foreign, and she could not recognize this twin who looked at her like he lived by her favor. She thought this was what she always wanted: the Doctor proclaiming his love for her, but it only proved that he could not possibly be the Doctor.

He could not be the Doctor who flitted from fascination to spectacle, and collected people like stories or souvenirs (to impress and collect more people). If there was one thing Rose knew about the Doctor’s relationship to humans is was that he loved individual humans like a gardener loves their plants, but a single bloom fades, a cut one even quicker. (She was loved only in moments, when the light was just right)

Rose wanted to trust him: if the Other was to be believed, than his counterpart had been too thorough. The thought that he intentionally pushed her away out of fear: of his feelings, of her death, of the immoral age and experience difference was an easy excuse. Further, the idea that everything changed because he matched her lifespan as a human mutt didn’t quite resolve all the other issues he had with her before.

It worked only if she didn’t think about it. They were sweet sentiments, neat little bows, but Rose had been fooled before by pretty men with pretty words. She had seen the coldness in the Doctors eyes as he left her this last time. And she really could not suffer another blow. She was already exhausted and the abyss, pulled her in like a tide she felt too exhausted to fight.

Even if, by some chance it was all true, maybe _that_ was terrifying part. That he was here, because he wanted to be, because he wanted her and nothing changed. Her world didn't transform because he was in it again. This was everything she dreamed of: the Doctor loving her-- even if it was by default

—even if it wasn’t really the Doctor.

.......

She was alone in her apartment, the windows were closed and with no lights are on, she could observe the natural light glowing yellow on the adjacent wall after it's daily trek across the carpet. It would soon be replaced by the dead light only cities can make, a grey static that feels like filth and reminds her of the only home she really had, Powell Estate. That's who she is. The psychologist Pete hired had many things to say, but how could Rose take anything to heart when they were never told the full story. The Doctor wasn’t some erratic man with intimacy issues, he was closer to a superhero, or a god, he wasn’t even a man. She wasn’t having difficulty adjusting to her father’s wealth; she literally wasn’t his daughter. How could she take medication that might as well have been prescribed to a different person entirely? The Doctor always talked derisively about pills and humans, maybe she absorbed some of that, and the idea of a pill changing her mind was a bit frightening. What would she become, but even more of a stranger to herself? Would she bark like the dog she is supposed to be? Maybe none of this would have happened if she had just been a small dog in the prime universe. She would already be dead.

_....She should be happy, why doesn't she come over more, Tony misses her, is her family not good enough, she should be ecstatic, she has everything, snap out of your blues, Rose. Rose you're being very selfish, think of your Doctor, he's human now, he did that for you, Rose,_

"--Rose, are you listening to me?" 

she snapped into focus, holding the phone to her ear.

"Yeah mum, of course-- I'll come over for dinner"

Her ever present nausea roiled at the confirmation.

"No canceling this time! I'll come get you myself. I won’t have my daughter disrespecting the staff; Henry waited 2 hours for you last time! Sat in the car, for Princess Rose to come down. For all you’ve been acting you’d think you did grow up something spoilt. I've had just about enough of your moping. I don't understand it all. What more could you want Rose? You're damned lucky! And that Doctor! Well let me tell you he's --"

"J- _Mum!_ I have to go, see you Sunday."

"No time for poor old mother. You better eat this time, no weird alien diets. The thanks I get after cooking all day... " She cut herself short here, and Rose realized belatedly that she did not chime in that Jackie hardly ever cooked now that she has house hold staff.

Oh no, she was missing her cues and when did Mom become Jackie to her? Tomorrow would be more food, more sitting at the table, more of the Other Doctor, Other Pete, rich Jackie, and an increasingly unbelievable performance she really didn't feel up to. 

"I’ve talked to Malcolm about coming back on --"

Rose bid a hasty good bye and hung up before any more could be said.

She held the phone loosely, and found herself reclined on couch with an unfocused gaze. She preferred silence. Malcolm, _her minder,_ when she worked actively with Torchwood, had her fill it with endless talk, movies, music, radio, and talking and talking. He gave her endless small useless tasks, to fill her empty head with fluff, to keep her clumsy stupid hands busy. Rose preferred the echo of ambient sounds in her shell of a body, skimmed by the static of the world. She knows she’s a horrible failure of a person, there was no need to hire someone as witness.


End file.
